


Badgers, or (How I wrote the ending as a form of coping with my omas death)

by Brian_Meow



Category: Queen - Fandom, The Monkees
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 20:42:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20972744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brian_Meow/pseuds/Brian_Meow
Summary: Brian finds himself regressing into a small child. Originally written as a halfway attempt at writing fic, I had written the majority of the fic in an hour. I didn't like how the ending turned out. I had the idea from Benjamin Button, a book written in the mid-twenties. Basically, it's about the Monkees, working together with Queen to stop Brian from deagifying even further.





	Badgers, or (How I wrote the ending as a form of coping with my omas death)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, it was a gag, and I wrote the fanfic as my final attempt at trying to fit in a group I struggled to belong to. It certainly doesn't hold up by today's standards. 
> 
> Then I visited my Oma who lived in Michigan. My Oma, ( My great grandmother who survived World War II) had been struggling with Dementia, struggled with remembering certain things. My grandmother, my nana who had been taking care of her for some time, had asked my family to come over to saline, MI, so they could see her. In a fit of pride, I refused to see her because I didn't want to be seen as weak ( I have ASD). My parents convinced me to come. The trip itself was painful, but hearing, my great grandmother point to the pictures of her relatives, and say that was my father, or that was my mother, made me smile a bit. One of the characters, Ernst, was based on my great great grandfather, who had enlisted in the German army in his 30s (he was born in 1901). He looked miserable of course in the photo, so I made note of that. The evening was spent playing the german equivalent of sorry! and general laughter filled the room. I spent the entirety of thanksgiving break slightly distracted because I wasn't sure how to feel about my great grandmother. My family was finally together, and it felt good. Think of it as the emotional equivalent of made in Heaven, in which the crescendo starts going up and up. 
> 
> Then April happened. On April 1st, my oma's health had begun to fail. I had just gotten back from a week filled with sun, and WDW. My Oma had been on death's door. To make matters worse, a person I had thought was my friend angrily confronted me about "Helping her take a test" For context, I refused because she had been skipping class to go to Christian club, something that she earnestly bragged about being more important then going to "History of Animation". Then she went to get an AID and told her I refused to help her. I saw this as cheating and did not want to risk getting kicked out of the class. or risk disappointing my advisor. So for about twenty minutes, I got screamed at by aid for refusing to help a disabled student. I had a complete meltdown in the cafeteria brought on by enduring sensory overload for about four months. It didn't help matters that I had been switching from manically laughing at the fact that my great grandmother was of ill health, to feel complete and utter despair at my grandmothers death, to complete and utter rage at the fact my grandmother was about to die. 
> 
> I told to my psychology professor, who had been discussing dementia, and told him that my grandmother was dying in my flat, emotionless voice. In reality, I had been fighting these feelings of grief, which is an internal conflict I've had ever since I was 13. I had been dealing with the "wrong" emotions, something I'd held back with success. I had this fear of being this unstable person or in other words, a complete and utter trainwreck. Thankfully, we did discuss ASD in that class. we did talk about how in Russian Orphanages, babies lived in neglect or were neglected by their caregivers were more likely to show symptoms of ASD. On the last day, I had admitted I had a blue card, something I struggled to communicate with the professor. 
> 
> Then again there's that fear. Mary was based on an actual relative of mine who was believed to be severely bipolar/ possibly skitizophrinic. Mary died when my mother was about 10, ( so about in the mid-eighties). My nana would recall that she would fly out of rages, out of nowhere. At one point, she was described as a predator on the hunt. My psych professor was describing a certain type of look in people's eyes, think that the windows are the eyes to the soul. Having written a poem about domestic violence, I can certainly agree with that sentiment. Sometimes I would wonder if the constant cycle of dysfunction would contribute to my uncle's suicide. 
> 
> Which brings me to the final part. For a while, I stopped listening to Queen. I stopped because I felt immensely guilty when I tried to listen to my favorite band. There had been fighting, something I felt pulled into. Like I felt pushed and pulled like a doll. I actually didn't like hearing suicide threats at all. In fact, It made me feel really uncomfortable. In the years after my uncle committed suicide, I had been working very hard at preventing suicide. I had been walked on like a doormat for the entirety of my life, and providing an outreach was something that made my preadolscentance bearable. 
> 
> Maybe those are my thoughts.

**In the future**

It was the badgers. The Badgers had to be destroyed. Eva Mao gave a slight smirk in the English forest. They had to be destroyed. They had been responsible for spreading disease in the countryside. Life had no room for pests.

2017 was a good year. BAM. The badger ran underneath the shrubs. BAM. That dirty rotten pest ate garbage. It was filthy and it produced fleas.BAM. The badger collapsed on the wood chips. CRUNCH. Badger tails flew high and mighty on mailboxes. The natural order had too many voles and hedgehogs. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Badgers were supposed to feast on voles and hedgehogs. Now because of the extinction of the badgers, the hedgehogs got into the plants. Britians found it quite difficult to find tomatoes and strawberries because the hedgehogs ate those up. It was Eva. She had to be destroyed. The portions scowled at the lies about how the destruction of the badgers was benefitting the economy. They grumbled about the loss of their crops. Cattle collapsed like it was nothing. The farmers were left scratching their heads. Why were the cattle dying of TB?

If the Badgers didn’t spread that disease, then what was the cause? The money for medical research ran out long ago. They were probably used for Eva’s implants. The farmers could not fathom the mystery of the flickering strains. There was no explanation. Cows can’t just collapse.

“Harold. You know the risks of time travel.” Nessie glanced at him. Harold could only look on. Time could only go forward. If you tried to mess with the flow of time, it could be disastrous. Harold grabbed the device.“I’m ready,” he said. He was certainly ready for the consequences. He didn’t feel pumped. He didn’t feel scared. Harold only felt sure.

Are you sure? Brian asked. Harold nodded in earnest. He picked up the book. “The problem with time travel is that time is constantly pushing forward. Any attempt in going back will push the time force. This will result in age regression.”What? Harold asked. Brian blew the curls out of his face. “Age regression- is that like that book by what’s his face - F. Scott Fitzgerald?” Brian gave a grim nod. “The curious case of Benjamin Button?” “Uh-huh.”Harold closed the book. “Well- if you say so, then shouldn’t we panic?” 

“Shouldn’t we panic?” Brian glanced at the doctor. Harold had collapsed on the way to the hospital. The doctor clicked his pen. He glanced at the elder of May on the seat. “Your father’s brain showed unusual brain movement.” the elderly May gave a nervous chuckle. “That could mean anything.”The doctor glanced at the clipboard. He looked at Brian. “Based on our readings, we think it could be early-onset dementia.”Brian frowned. “I think we need a second opinion.” The doctor couldn’t mean that. Did the time travel take its toll on Harold? Perhaps the regressive behavior was just a ridiculous theory. Hopefully, the idiot that wrote it was high when he/she was typing that theory.

Maybe Brian himself was high right now. The doctor gestured to the door. “Maybe we should just watch him during the night.” During the night? No! Brian needed to watch over Harold! As Brian turned to leave the room, he noticed that Harold seemed to have a brown streak in his normally snow-white hair. The streak was a small thin curl hidden in his nest of hair. It was just the sunlight glaring ominously through the cracks of the sunset.

Day one

Harold laid on the bed. It was just like going to the clinic. His body ached on the stiff mattress. It could be anything. He was not growing younger. He sat up. Harold’s curls had grown darker. Harold’s eye bags hadn’t changed a bit, but his hair stuck on stubbornly as if it were dyed a dark brown. Almost as if it was to hide the ever prominent gray curl that dared to make an appearance.“Welp,” Harold thought to himself. There’s only one thing to do. 

Nine months later… It’s baffling. At least eight men have been fighting in the labor room. At least one of them has claimed that the impregnated women have been hospitalized at least nine months earlier.

Day two

He thought he knew he didn’t deserve anything. He - Harold collapsed on the bench. He flung his chestnut, almost brick-red hair. I CAN’T FEEL ANYTHING! I’M A FAILURE! FAILURE! Are you alright, sir? A nurse asked. Harold gave a weak smile as he raised his head. “I’m fine. I’m just a little thirsty.”Time cannot stand on its own. He had to do something. He had to do something, fast. What could he do now? If he told the nurse that he came from the post polylactic future, he’d be simply dismissed as needing medication.“Steven Hawking has once said that black holes might be responsible?” Mike asked.“Maybe we have to go back in time and kill his mother before he’s born?”Guys! John frowned. We cannot go back in time! We have to think of better ideas! “Wait!” Freddie said. “What if we went back and just put in a couple of badgers in a sett, and then make a family- “Fred! That won’t work! Get your head out of the gutter!” Roger groaned to himself. What if they could go forward? Mike frowned. “That sounds stupid for some reason.” Brian gestured to Mike. “What will happen to Harold?” Mike fiddled with the book. “Harold’s body is breaking apart. Since time can go only forward, his body is struggling to match up to the lost time. His body is regressing to the point of pre-infancy.” Brian sucked in his cheeks. Freddie glanced at Roger and Brian. “Pre-infancy?”

Suddenly Roger’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He turned it on. What is it? Mike asked. He wished he didn’t because Roger then jumped him. Brian punched Roger because he owed him five bucks. Freddie punched Roger because he didn’t have a good reason

  
  
  
  
  
  


**The end -**

**2018**

**71**

Harold is in the hospital. This is a moment of pure bitterness. He’s accusing the entire cast of failing to “save” him. He begins to beg for somebody to “save him.”

He didn’t want to be saved. He knew that he was going to pay the consequences of time travel. It was worth it to break the time-space continuum. Since he was time traveling to 1976, he anticipated the second Brian disappearing from existence. That was his master plan.   
Fools. He didn’t time travel to save the badgers, he time-traveled to destroy the inferior Brian.

He chuckled a bit at his cruel joke.

What was the price of time traveling? He wanted to save the Badgers from the evil clutches of the Tory government, didn’t he? In 2017 alone, the badger population had dwindled to 300 badgers per square meter. As a result of the badgers disappearing, the hedgehog population skyrocketed to 20%. Unfortunately due to the skyrocket in Hedgehogs, the Britain population tried to cull the population. Again, the numbers were fuzzy, but due to the hedgehog eating all of the grass, the plants dwindled off.    
  


He looked at the plants growing outside of the building. It was an odd joy to see the green plants growing from the soil. An odd quick joy that remained in his body for a long time. The dew on the rose dripped down from the rogue petal to the bright emerald green stalk to the powdered dirt. Harold watched in amazement as the gardener tended to the plants. It must have rained quite recently, due to the puddles gathering on the pavement. He didn’t want to remember the storm that followed through, but at least he enjoyed the view of his window.

**dead!**

**2008**

**61**

This is a moment of happiness. Harold begins to dance around the hospital room. He runs down the hallway. He thinks to himself that no one will miss him. His brunette hair flies as he slows to a jog. The pouches underneath his eyes are prominent. His legs gave a violent yank as he pulls on the bar.

“Ouch.” he groaned. The nurse at the counter glanced at him. “Sir?” are you alright? He asked Harold who was sprawled on the floor. Harold pulled himself up. “I’m fine. My legs are just ‘getting there.’ he muttered with a grin. The nurse gave him a faint smile before the phone rang, interrupting the conversation.

“Are you ok?” Mike asked. “I know you have those bouts of anxiety.” Harold rolled his eyes. “I’m fine Michael.” I just haven’t been working out. Mike could only stare at the fifty-year-old man that could otherwise be mistaken for his father. 

Harold looked at himself in the mirror. “It’s not very good is it?” Mike made an audible swallow before continuing, “It’s fine.” Brian immediately stopped smiling. Roger hissed to Mike, “You idiot. How could you make such a comment about his hair?”   
  
Mike facepalmed as Harold started to breathe heavily. “I look ugly!” He shouted so loud that patients in the hospital stopped to stare at the unfortunate band members while the fifty-year-old had a public meltdown. 

You don’t look that bad dear, Freddie tried to say, but Harold pushed him away. “Yes, I am!” Harold emitted a wail, before emitting a hideous sounding hiccup. I’m so ugly no one even likes me. I have wrinkles under my eyes! No one wants to look at my sagging eyes!    
Mike internally thought to himself, “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

No! Dear! Freddie said to Harold. You look marvelous!

Mike still thought to himself, How has this species survived for so long,?” “Mike thinks I’m an idiot!” Harold cried out in terror, “tell them mike!”Mike looked up from his facepalm. 

Brian, Roger, John, and Freddie turned to look at Mike. At first, Mike thought about lying, and he wanted to lie. At the same time, he didn’t want to hurt Harold’s feelings about his hair.

Harold was such a turd at times, and he wanted to rip his heart into little tiny pieces. 

“Mike hates my hair!” Harold cried out with tears running down his face. Mike turned to face Harold. His sobs echoed against the hospital walls. Mike shot Harold a funny look. “My hair’s so ugly that I should jump off the grand canyon!” Harold bemoaned loudly. “Just put me out of my misery!”

“Y’all act like a bunch of babies,” Mike stated. 

“What?” everybody asked. 

Mike pulled out a cigarette. He lit the edge of the stick and put it in his mouth. “I said, Y’all are acting like a bunch of idiots.” “Nobody cares about your hair, Harold. Freddie, we need to talk about this time situation, and the two of you need to come with me. 

Look! Mike’s smoking! He doesn’t care about the environment! Harold cried out in anguish. Everyone turned to him. Mike took a puff and continued with his heavy Texas accent. “I don’t want to say this, but Harold stops acting like an idiot.” Harold continued to sob out loud. 

“Where’s my cell phone? I need to passively aggressively tweet this!” Stop being so mean to me, Mike! I hate myself so much! Harold cried out as the four band members left his side and went to the movie theatre. Mike held the Harolds phone in his hand. Brian, Roger, and Freddie and John went up to Mike. 

_ Harold stared at the four young men in bewilderment. Harold demanded, “How could you leave me at a time like this? I could die and none of you would care!” His shouts of frustration grew louder, and louder until his voice bounced off the walls. Mike gripped the phone in his hand. Brian quietly said, “then perish.” Freddie bit his lip while Roger snickered quietly. _

_ Harold looked at them in horror. Then something emitted from his voice. He began to wail like a banshee. The two of the band members burst out of the hospital doors. Freddie remained speechless.  _ __   
_   
_ ** _How I disappear-_ **

** _the late 1990s_ **

** _50_ **

_ Harold begins to panic at this point. His heart begins to beat fast. His heart beats faster and faster as if his organs are on fire. Was he having a heart attack? His body temperature grew in intensity. It was as if he was locked in a sauna. How hot was it- Harold frantically looked around the hospital. He ran over to the thermostat.  _

_ The dial read Sixty-three degrees. It wasn’t sixty-three degrees. The thermometer was lying. It felt like It was a hundred degrees. Harold rubbed his forehead. He felt the sweat pore down the back of his neck. Try to breathe. Try to breathe. His heart was on fire. Everyone was staring at him. Time stood still as his body felt like it was burning from the inside out. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shut down his thoughts that were racing at him one hundred miles per hour. He had to sit down. Harolds legs wobbled. His feet felt like jelly. He couldn’t understand what was happening to him. He knew he was panicking, but he didn’t know how to shut himself down. _

_ “Sir?” the nurse in the pink shirt asked. The lights glared at him. He needed to sit down. Blackness swallowed the edges of his eyes. His pupils throbbed and expanded. Great. Just Great. Are you alright?” “I’m fine.” he managed through gritted teeth. His eyes throbbed once more. _

_ The environment faded into black _

** _1992_ **

** _Sharpest Lives_ **

** _40_ **

_ he sighs to himself. _

_ Cigarettes are bad for you. He scowled. _

_ Harold was not there. He looked at the mirror. A mane of naturally blackish, nearly brunette hair hung on his shoulders. I can almost feel it again. This is how I disappear. The thought resonated in his throat before vibrating into a full-blown howl. “This is how I disappear isn’t it?” he cried out loud. You’ve pushed everyone aside. Shut up!” he cried in desperation. _

_ He went back to his room. Every step he took felt like a march to his execution. His feet turned into concrete. The sun dragged his shadow on the newly cleaned linoleum floor. Harold sat down on the stiff hospital bed. He could feel every cell tingle. You’re going to lose everything. Your wife, your job, and your children, he thought to himself. Will, they even look at you, now you’re forty? _

_ “Shut up.” _

_ His body was sore. The perks of turning forty. His back hurt, his arms ached, and his legs hurt. They’re going to replace you. If you die, the band will just replace you with someone else. “ I shouldn’t die.” A voice cried out in the hospital room. “What’s the diagnosis?” A barely audible murmur floated from the room. “It’s nothing much than that?” _

_ Then what’s the point of carrying on? No one likes you. Harold sat up on the bed. His body shivered. The air conditioning whooshed. It grew too cold to wear blankets. He wondered if he needed to be tied down. Harold glanced at the rectangular phone at the bedside. _

_ He should take a nap. In the future, they could replace you with a younger contestant from a TV show. Ridiculous. The door wasn’t locked. I should do something. I need to move. I need to find the solution and go back in time to fix the time-space continuum. Before I become a pile of cells underneath, a microscope. _

_ I need to move fast. There needed to be a pattern. There needed to be a space-time continuum pattern. _

** _“The black parade”_ **

** _1984_ **

** _ 30_ **

_ When I was a young boy... He thought to himself, my father took me to the city. Harold felt the crowd breathing amongst him. The balloons floated among the city buildings. He smiled and moved forward. “I took a massive risk time traveling, didn’t I?” The smoke of cigarettes wafted through Harold’s nose. The sun pierced through the glass panes. Manufactured plants seemed stuck in the hastily potted soil. He stopped to sniff the bright green vegetation  _

_ The repetitive click of a typewriter brings his attention to the lounge. People dressed in garish, neon-colored shirts hovered over the receptionist’s desk. Patients shot the receptionist impatient glances. The phone buzzes in the distance. Harold ignores the phones' irritating cry and sits down in one of the seats. He ponders his situation.  _

_ Harold wonders about his childhood, of lost hopes and dreams dashed. His father never liked his decisions. He wanted to become a bloody musician, but his father insisted that he become a physicist like generations before. It simply isn't fair, but he survived, didn’t he? Another patient plopped down, and glanced at him, breaking his thoughts entirely. Harold shot him a look, but the other man paid little attention to him. The patient coughs a bit before reaching for a magazine. _

_   
_ _ Harold returned to his thoughts. Surely there was a cure? He leaped to the chair. No!!! The band will sing his song. People will know his name. He will be a legacy for generations to come. He made important music. _

_ His childhood. _

_ Oh, how he wished he could go back to simpler times. As a child times were easier. His emotions made sense. The awful curse of puberty brought it down. Why couldn’t it just be as simple as sharing toys with your neighbor? Among the people clapping in the audience, he could see familiar faces. Faces he dared not recognize, but he was certain of their origins. A single tear runs down his cheek as he remembers his childhood. He envisions himself on an iron throne. The people cheer his name. Harold is another hero. He saved the badgers. He saved everyone. Everyone cries out his name. He woke up in a sweat.“I don’t love you” Brian howls at this point. “My body is falling to pieces!”Sir-“No!” _

_ He glared at the orderly. The orderly who held the needle in his hand did not move. “I’m going to do it!” The orderly jabbed the needle into his thigh” “I’m going to do- Time is losing. Time is losing. We do not have enough time. _

** _Cancer-_ **

** _1966_ **

** _ 20._ **

_ His cheekbones, high, Harold could have easily been mistaken for a girl. His unruly curls, which he protected with great honor, were unbrushed. Did he shave recently? Who cares, for this moment is of awkward transition. From a nervous young boy to a lanky young man, Harold wonders how he manages to not trip over his feet. The ladies are mildly baffled by his appearance. The women and men try to avert their gaze. How is it that the opposite sex was so elusive, yet greatly immature? How did awkward young boys become an arousing gentleman?  _

_ Speaking of sexual urges, Harold felt the urge to borrow Mike's computer. “Mike? He asked, can I borrow your computer?”  _ __   
  


_ Mike knew better than to trust Harold with the computer and told him no.  _ _   
_ _ “Why not?” Harold asked. Mike answered, “You’re going to give my computer a virus.” Harold thought for a bit. “Can I borrow the computer for ‘research’?” Mike thought for a bit and granted him access to the internet.  _

_ Thirty minutes after Harold disappeared with the computer, he returned with it slightly sticky. Roger snatched the computer from Harold. He opened the computer lid. He clicked on the files. An error message popped up on the screen. “Mike,” Roger announced. “I don’t think the files are working.” _

_ What in tarnation are ya talking about? Mike asked.  _

_ “Just come over here.” _ _   
_ _ Mike walked over to Roger typing on the computer.  _

_ What's the file labeled JULAAAAY?? _ __   
  


_ Harold pauses for a moment. Where they all staring at him out of lust? He turns away in mild embarrassment. He didn’t even bother. The opposite sex was surely a mystery.  _ __   
__   
_ “Harold, why did you destroy the computer?” Mike asked.  _ __   
_ Harolds cheeks grew red and flushed. “I wish I could explain why computers destroyed.” _ _   
_ __ “Then what’s holding you back.”

_ Harold began to sob. “ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I wish I could fix this. I can’t do it. Everything seems hopeless. I’m running on fumes. My body is going to shut down. He choked on his tears.I’m sorry.” Mike began to put his hand on his shoulder. “We understand. He said to Harold.  _

_ Five minutes later _

_ Mickey began to knock on the bathroom door. “ You ok mate? “Harold?” he began to ask.  _

_ Harold glanced at Mickey. _

_   
_ _ Mickey asked, _

_ I beg your pardon? _ _   
_ _ Harold glanced at his compadre.  _

** _Teenagers_ **

** _1963_ **

** _19-13_ **

_ No one asked why there was a schoolboy tied down on the bed. His wrists were tied on to the posts. Orderlies were walking around. His massive mane of curls was gone. In its place was a trimmed down cowlick. _

_ “Administer tranquilizers.” _

_ The only thing left to do was to stare at the ceiling. He searched for the curves and the edges of each peeling wallpaper. A chunk of rubber was stuffed inside his mouth. He couldn’t spit it out. Orderlies walked around the hospital bed giving each other orders. “Move the needle this way. “No.” “Are you stupid?” The first orderly snatched the clipboard from his assistant. His body… …was… Drugged. “Young man… where do you go to school?” _

_ Harold strained between his mouth. “Erhm. Not sure.” The second orderly scribbled something on his notepad. “Where’s Freddie?” he managed to say beneath the rubber. “Freddie?” the orderly barely looked from his sketch pad. “Muy nabes Brian!” “Brian? The orderly gave him a stern glance. “You’re not Brian.” The teenager laid on the table. “Add more CCs _

** _Disenchanted_ **

** _1955_ **

** _12- 9 years old_ **

_ “You will feel better.” _

_ The voice echoed inside his head. His fingers seemed to shrink before his very eyes. His voice wavered from high to low pitch. Oil poured out of every orifice possible. It’s too late. He sat on the bed. Harold stared at his reflection. A pimply scrawny boy slumped over his bed. The tranquilizers caused his head to throb immensely. He squinted at the clock. The big hand slowly made its way to the sixth. It was slow. _

_ “Young man.” _

_ Harold perked up. “What are you doing in there?” the nurse asked. “This isn’t your room is it?” Harold stammered. “This is my room.” The nurse pulled herself to his eye level. “This is someone else’s room.” _

_ “This is my room!” The nurse stood up. “Young man, do you kiss your mom with that mouth?” “This is my room!” Harold stated once more. “Do you understand? Stop treating me like a child and get out of my room!” “You are a child.” _

_ Harold. His mom gave him a cross look while his father looked disappointed in him. The neon city lights were burning in his mind as he tried to avert his gaze. The students were all the same. The 42 pairs of eyes followed the teacher. Harold wanted to perform his best. He strove for perfection. He walked into the classroom and handed in his assignment. After the bell rang for the umpteenth time, he stiffly rose his arm as if he gave his conscience to someone else.  _

_ For the first time in years, he went outside of the hospital. Dusk was forming around the edges of the hospital. He dug underneath the fence. His hands got a bit dirty, but who cares? His life was a glass box he could not a breakthrough. No matter how hard he pounded, nothing seemed to work.  _

_ It was always education. Go to class once yer five. Have your life figured out by eleven? His lips trembled as he tried to lay on the grass. His body ached less and less. His bones hurt even so, and he couldn’t figure it out. The night sky enveloped the night sky. The wind was brisk, but he barely bothered with getting a jacket.  _

_ He was a child. The world seemed so distorted, and he was frightened. One day he simply existed. He was alive, the moment he took a deep breath. The moment he opened his eyes and walked was his existence. He existed for one day _

** _Mama_ **

** _1952_ **

** _8 - 2_ **

_ There came a point where Harold no longer needed to use his legs. He curled his feet into his body. The head nurse was delightful. _

_ Of course, she provided milk. His body needed milk. His body needed protein. Soon he didn’t need clothes. He just needed a blanket to cover his body. He howled when he needed to. If he needed milk, he cried. If he needed anything at all, he just wailed his lungs out.  _

** _Famous last words_ **

** _1947_ **

** _0_ **

_ I have to keep going. I have to keep going. I have to keep going. I have to keep going. I have to live. I have to live. I have to live. I have to keep living. I have to keep living. I have to keep living. I have to keep living. I have to keep living. I am not going to die. I am not going to die. I am not going to die. Darkness filled the void in his world. Feelings were almost unheard of. I’m ok. The spells began to happen again. He slept most of the day and wailed the majority of the night. Freddie will fix this. Harold- Nothing mattered anymore. Help, he thought to himself, as his thoughts melted away into a soft hum.  _

_ He did not remember his thoughts and fears. The pains of being a child and being an adult. He sniffed his ankle once. He hit the sidewalk with a gritting pain.  _

_ “Oh you poor child” a man appearing to be about eighty pulled him up. He made a clicking noise as he pulled Harold up. Harold pawed at the elderly man's cheeks. The elderly man gave a hearted chuckle as he pulled away from the child.  _

_ A nurse ran up to the two of them on the sidewalk. “You two alright?” She asked preparing to activate the radio. The elderly man picked up the young boy. “Ja.” The elderly man nodded in affirmation.  _

_ “This boy. He is..” the elderly man paused for a bit. “English?” _ _   
_ _ Harold squirmed in his lap as the nurse thought up an answer.  _

_ “English, yes.” _

_ The elderly man bounced Harold in his lap, as he pointed to Harold's direction.  _ _   
_ _ “German. I am a geh-man. I am a berliner, yes? _

_ Harold smiled a bit.  _

_ This man was slightly amusing to him. The way he spoke was strange, but oddly, comforting. It was as though he had a grandfather he never knew of. Brian ran up to the stranger, as he was slightly confused by the sight of a grown man holding his past self who regressed to a small child.  _ _   
_ _ Uh, who are you and what are you doing with my son? Brian asked indignantly. The man turned around to face Brian, who stepped back in shock. The stranger had blood running down his face _

_ Brian gave the eighty-year-old a shocked look. The eighty-year-old man resembled Harold as if he too had time traveled, but where? _ _   
_ _ When did he come from? _

_ What was his name? Surely the world will burn, but what could the man have in connection with Harold? _

_ Brian choked out the words, “Who are you?” The old man responded without a beat. _

_ My name is Ernst.  _

_ How would you describe your family? _

_ Roger asked. _

_ Ernst paused as he sat in the ward. He glanced at the lady sitting next to him. The lady was also caked in blood, but she was biologically younger than Ernst. He nudged the lady who ignored his speaking. She flopped over as if she was a rag doll. Roger frowned at the sight. _

_ What's with her? He inquired.  _ __   
_   
_ __ Ernst replied, “I am not sure what is up with her. Her son is married to my biological daughter. She is a terrible mother, that I can tell you. I think she is convinced she is here for her fourth lobotomy.”

_ “Lobotomy?” Roger inquired. _

_ Ernst nodded. “She is, how you say, catatonic?”  _

_ Roger stared at the slumbering woman now drooling on her sleeve. Roger glanced at his notes, while Mary slumbered on. Suddenly she woke up with a start. She took a glance at the roger. Roger continued to look at his notes. “Mary has a history of making very flamboyant and inappropriate gestures. It should also be known that she tends to be hypersexual for some unknown reason. Not much is known about her childhood except that her father was orphaned at a young age. The patient believes it was an act of murder, and it was undocumented somewhere in the 1920s. The patient has been in and out of psychiatric hospitals somewhere in the mid-fifties and sixties. The patient lives with her three children who are somewhere in their preteens” _

_ Roger raised his eyebrows as Mary pulled the paper from his hands.  _

_ The best way to describe her was that her eyes were indescribable. It is said that eyes are windows to the soul, but for her, there was no soul. Usually, there was a window, but Mary's eyes lacked clear emotion. Her irises were that of a cat, dark grey and slit. Like a cat on the prowl. Not excited, but as if deep in thought.  _


End file.
